Murder at the Piccadilly Playhouse

by C. J. Archer

  Unless he was.

  There was one easy way of finding out.

  After breakfast, I asked Frank where the General Register Office was located. He hailed a cab for me, and I headed to Somerset House on The Strand where the records of the country’s births, deaths and marriages were housed in the imposing building. After giving one of the many clerks stationed at the counter my request, it took over two hours before I finally got my hands on Millie’s birth certificate.

  Pearl was listed as the mother under her real name of Eleanor, as I expected. The father’s name, however, had me re-thinking everything. It wasn’t Lord Wrexham, but Mr. Culpepper, after all.

  If Pearl was with both men at the time, she couldn’t have been absolutely sure who’d fathered Millie, but it was telling that she chose to list Culpepper over Wrexham. The choice she’d made almost four years ago was one thing, but the choice she’d made recently was quite another. She’d chosen to tell Lord Wrexham that he was Millie’s father in the hope he’d give her money.

  But it seemed just as likely that she’d gone to Millie’s father first.

  Mr. Culpepper had lied to me. He must have known Millie was his daughter.

  If he’d lied about that, what else had he lied about? Pushing Pearl over the balcony after discovering she’d kept Millie from him all these years? Or because he didn’t want to pay her money for supporting the child? Or had he finally snapped out of sheer jealousy over her other lovers?

  He had the motive and the opportunity. He’d arrived at the scene of her death quickly. After Pearl’s deathly scream, he’d been seen emerging from the fire exit which gave direct access to the dress circle balcony.

  I had to confront him, but I’d be a fool to do it alone.

  Chapter 14

  I found Mr. Armitage putting on a second coat of paint on the walls in his office. The cold air coming through the open window diluted the fumes, but it made the room feel like ice. I kept my coat on as I greeted him.

  He descended the ladder and set down the paint tin and brush. “It seems you can’t stay away, Miss Fox.”

  “Perhaps you should put another desk in here for me.”

  “And add your name to the door?”

  “What an excellent idea.”

  He grunted and wiped his hands on the paint-splattered cloth slung over his shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

  “I want to request your company to speak to a suspect.”

  He frowned. “A violent suspect?”

  “He might turn violent when I accuse him of murder.”

  “If you’re worried, perhaps you shouldn’t go. Tell my father what you know and let the police handle it.”

  “You said I needed more evidence or there was no point going to the police.”

  He began removing his overalls, which I took as a sign he’d already made up his mind to join me. “And I assume you found that evidence.”

  “It’s still just speculation.” I told him about seeing Mr. Culpepper’s name on Millie’s birth certificate and how he’d lied to me about knowing of her existence. “I don’t have any proof that he lied, but I do have a strong suspicion. And if he lied about that, what else has he lied about?”

  “It’s quite a leap to go from lying to murder.”

  “That’s why I want to confront him. I need answers, and, quite frankly, I can think of no one else who will provide them at this juncture. I’ve ruled out Lady Wrexham and am also quite sure Lord Wrexham didn’t do it. She has an alibi and he was most likely elsewhere at the time of the murder too. Culpepper is my only suspect. So will you come with me?”

  “I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I ignored the request of a lady.”

  I tried to think of a retort but got distracted by his forearms again. They really were quite muscular. And the way his shirt fitted across his shoulders was also something of a revelation. I knew they were broad but without a waistcoat or jacket, I was able to see just how broad.

  He suddenly looked up and I had to pretend to be studying something on the desk. Unfortunately, there was nothing on the desk within easy reach except a pencil. I picked it up, gave it the once over, and put it down again.

  He plucked his waistcoat and tie off the stand then grabbed his jacket. Before putting it on, he removed a leather holster and gun from the bottom desk drawer.

  I gasped.

  “Why the surprise?” he asked as he strapped the holster on. “You’ve asked me along because you suspect Culpepper could pose a threat.” He picked up the gun and loaded bullets into the barrel. “This is just in case you’re right.”

  “I assumed you’d use your fists against him.”

  “I’m not super-human, Miss Fox. If he pulls a gun on us, my fists won’t be of use.”

  He was right, but that didn’t ease my mind. “Do you have another for me?”

  “Thankfully no.”

  “’Thankfully?’ I’d be very responsible, and only use it if absolutely necessary.”

  “Have you ever fired a gun before?” At the shake of my head, he thrust the gun into the holster. “Then let’s leave the shooting to me.”

  “Does your father know you have that?”

  He led the way outside and locked the door. “Who do you think gave it to me when I started this business?”

  “Does your mother know?”

  “Do you think I’m mad?” He followed me down the stairs, but instead of opening the front door, he reached past me and put his hand to the doorknob to stop me from grabbing it. “Don’t tell her.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  A short walk later, we found Mr. Culpepper at his desk at the Playhouse. He looked up from the ledger he was studying then, seeing me, quickly closed it. I introduced Mr. Armitage and Mr. Culpepper invited us both to sit. I did, but Mr. Armitage remained standing by my side. I was very aware of the gun in his holster. He’d left his jacket unbuttoned so he could access it quickly, but I was rather relieved to see Mr. Culpepper’s hands remain where I could see them, on the desk.

  “How may I help you, Miss Fox?” he asked.

  “You lied to me.” It was a gamble to accuse him when I wasn’t absolutely certain, but the gamble paid off when he did not look surprised.

  “What about?” he asked rather calmly.

  “You knew Millie was your daughter all along.”

  He sat back, lowering his hands to his lap, out of sight. I hoped Mr. Armitage could see them from his higher vantage point.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “Because I panicked and fell back on instinct,” he said. “I’ve been lying about being a father for years, and it comes naturally now. I knew how it would look if you knew that I knew about Millie, and that you’d accuse me of killing Pearl for keeping my daughter from me.”

  “So Pearl came to you around Christmas and asked for money to support Millie. Why then? Did she plan on taking Millie back and raising her as her own?”

  He shook his head and sat forward again. “She never asked me, nor did she tell me about her plans for the girl. As far as I am aware, she was content to leave her with the Larsens.”

  “Did you never offer to marry Pearl and raise Millie together?”

  He scoffed. “Of course I offered, when I found out she was with child. But Pearl wasn’t interested in either marriage or motherhood. That’s why I don’t believe she wanted the girl back to raise her. Pearl and I would have made terrible parents. We’re both too selfish and, to be quite honest, disinterested in children.”

  I wasn’t sure whether that made me feel better about him or worse. On the one hand, it was good that a person could identify selfishness within themselves and give their child to a couple better suited to the task of parenting, but on the other hand, how did he know he’d be a terrible parent until he tried? He might have fallen in love with his daughter if he’d spent some time with her.

  “If Pearl wasn’t planning to raise Millie as her own, why did she need money?” I asked.

/>   “I don’t know. As I said, she didn’t come to me. I wasn’t lying about that.”

  “She knew you were in financial trouble, didn’t she?”

  Mr. Culpepper glanced at Mr. Armitage. He gave a small nod.

  “So she went to Lord Wrexham and thought if she told him Millie was his, he’d be inclined to give her money.” I was talking through my thoughts, now, hoping inspiration would strike. I didn’t expect answers. “But he didn’t care and refused. The questions is, why did she need money now?”

  “Her sister blamed Pearl for forgetting about the child.”

  I blinked back at him. “How could she forget about her own child?”

  He heaved a sigh and rubbed his jaw. “I don’t want you thinking badly of Pearl. It’s not that she deliberately didn’t think about Millie, but…” He shrugged. “She just wasn’t part of her world. Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying goes.”

  “How do you know Mrs. Larsen blamed Pearl for forgetting about Millie? Did Pearl tell you that?”

  He shook his head. “I overheard them arguing. I couldn’t hear much, but I did hear that before they moved out of earshot. I know Pearl sent a little money to her sister each month for Millie’s upkeep, so she probably just forgot that month.”

  “But they saw each other on Christmas Day. She would have confronted Pearl then about non-payment.” I rubbed my forehead, annoyed by my mistake in assuming this man had killed the woman he loved.

  “When did they argue?” Mr. Armitage asked.

  Mr. Culpepper twisted his mouth to the side as he thought. “I can’t quite recall. Mrs. Larsen came to the theater one day—”

  “What?” I lowered my hand and stared at him. “Are you sure she came here?”

  “Yes. She’d never been before and seemed in awe of the place. She asked Pearl to give her a tour.”

  When I first met Mrs. Larsen, she told me she’d never been to the Playhouse. She’d lied. And the only reason for her to lie was because her presence at the theater implicated her in the murder.

  “What day did Mrs. Larsen visit?” I asked.

  “I told you, I can’t recall.”

  “Was it the day of Pearl’s death?”

  He shrugged. “It might have been.” He clicked his fingers. “Perry might know. He has a good memory for these things. He’s excellent at remembering everyone’s lines, not just his own.”

  He led the way out of his office and down the corridor where we found Perry Alcott helping Dotty Clare’s understudy with her lines. When Mr. Armitage realized we’d walked into the actresses’ dressing room, he stepped back out again, although the understudy was the only woman present and she was fully clothed.

  Mr. Alcott confirmed that he’d seen Mrs. Larsen in the theater, being shown around by Pearl. “It was the day before Pearl died.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Not the day of?”

  “Definitely the day before.”

  “Do you know what they argued about?”

  He shook his head. “I was on stage and could see them in the dress circle, but I couldn’t hear them. It seemed heated, but Mrs. Larsen appeared to be doing all of the talking. Poor Pearl just stood there and allowed her sister to bully her.”

  We thanked them and left the theater. Mr. Armitage hailed a hansom and I gave the driver directions to the Larsens’ residence. The more I thought about it, the more I knew Mrs. Larsen had lied to throw me off course. She’d told me she’d never been to the Playhouse. She’d never admitted that Millie was Pearl’s daughter. And she’d tried to blame Pearl’s murder on a jealous lover.

  We alighted at the entrance to the courtyard, but Mr. Armitage caught my arm and held me back. He nodded at the abandoned cart where Mr. Larsen stood beside Millie, his back to us. Millie sat on the cart, her little legs swinging in the air. He seemed to be talking to her while she simply stared straight ahead. It was impossible to tell if she was listening or not.

  “Does his work allow him to have Saturdays off?” Mr. Armitage asked.

  I wasn’t sure. Now that I thought about it, Mr. Larsen had been home when I’d called last time too, and that had been a Wednesday. He’d also been repairing his own boots and Mrs. Larsen had been baking, perhaps to make ends meet if her husband was out of work. If they were in financial difficulty, it would explain why they needed money from Pearl.

  “He seems devoted to Millie,” Mr. Armitage said.

  Yes, he did. Where Mrs. Larsen had no patience for her daughter, Mr. Larsen had it in abundance. He adored her. So if he thought Pearl was going to take Millie away from him, he might have done whatever was necessary to stop her.

  I felt sick to my stomach.

  Mr. Armitage led the way, his strides long and purposeful. I dragged my feet, but ended up at the same destination. I introduced the two men. By the end, my mouth was dry.

  “Have you ever been to the Piccadilly Playhouse?” Mr. Armitage asked.

  Mr. Larsen lifted Millie off the cart and put her on the ground. “No. Why?”

  “Why aren’t you at work today?”

  Mr. Larsen’s jaw set. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Mr. Larsen took Millie’s hand and led her away.

  I stepped in front of him. “I need to speak to you, but I don’t think Millie should overhear what I have to say.”

  “Then don’t say it.”

  “I have to, and I will say it right here if you don’t step away.”

  He glanced down at the girl. “Stay here, Millie. You understand? Don’t move.”

  I walked a few feet away and he followed. Mr. Armitage joined us. “We know Millie is not your child. She’s Pearl’s, and Mr. Culpepper is the father.”

  Mr. Larsen rubbed the back of his neck and his shoulders slumped. He was a deflated, defeated man. “She’s as good as ours. We’ve raised her. No one knows that she’s not ours, only Pearl, Culpepper and now you.” He shrugged. “What of it?”

  “Was Pearl going to take her back?”

  “No!”

  “Did you need more money for Millie’s upkeep?”

  “I can provide for my family,” he ground out. “She’s just a little girl. She doesn’t cost much.”

  “But you’ve lost your job, haven’t you?” I pressed. “Have you taken in boarders? Is that why your parlor is closed off, because you’re sleeping in there while your boarders rent your bedroom?”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you. Good day.”

  “Then I’ll speak to your wife.”

  “She’s not in.”

  “We know she confronted Pearl about money at the Playhouse, and lied to me about it. Indeed, she told me she’d never been there. I think she learned the layout of the theater then went back the following day and lured Pearl up to the dress circle on some pretext or other then pushed her over the balcony.”

  He shook his head, but his gaze did not meet mine.

  “Mrs. Larsen hated her sister, didn’t she? She hated her for being more beautiful, more popular, more talented. She hated that she wouldn’t take responsibility for her child. A child that your wife isn’t particularly fond of. A child she calls simple.”

  He stepped forward, his hands curled into fists. He bared his teeth in a growl. “She’s not simple.”

  Mr. Armitage grabbed his arm and jerked him back, away from me.

  “No, she’s not.” I looked at the girl, taking a tentative step forward, one hand extended in front of her. “She’s quite musically talented. Unfortunately, your wife couldn’t see it, and nor could Pearl. But you saw it. You love her and want to nurture her talent. But that requires money.”

  “She can develop her music ability here, without instruments or a teacher. She’s content enough and there’s time later for her to have proper lessons. I’ll pay for them when I get a new job. You’ll see. I’ll pay for her music lessons if I have to work my fingers to the bone. We didn’t need help from Pearl.”


  He was right. Millie was young. They had time. So why did they need the money now? It was clear he adored his daughter, although his wife wasn’t quite so loving. To her, Millie was not quite right. But it was clear to me she wasn’t so simple that she couldn’t function in society. With some love and patience, she could grow up to be like other girls.

  Millie took another tentative step forward. “Papa?”

  Mr. Larsen spun around. “Millie, wait!” He raced to her and took her hand then led her back to the cart.

  I followed them, watching as Millie felt around, her hands skimming over her surroundings, before settling down. “She’s blind,” I murmured.

  Mr. Larsen made sure she had one hand grasping the cart’s edge before he let her go. “Aye. Has been since birth, although we didn’t know for months.”

  A woman like Mrs. Larsen, somewhat selfish herself and certainly impatient, would consider a blind child a burden. Particularly if she didn’t love the girl as a daughter in the first place. Lady Wrexham had called Millie “damaged”, so I suspected Pearl had told Lord Wrexham about Millie’s blindness and his wife had overheard. Lady Wrexham and Mrs. Larsen were of like-mind in their view of blindness. To Lady Wrexham, Millie was a social burden. To Mrs. Larsen, she was a financial one.

  Mrs. Larsen had demanded Pearl give her money for Millie on Christmas Day, and I suspected it was more than the usual monthly amount. And I knew why.

  “There’s a school for the blind you want to send Millie to. She alluded to it when I was here. But it costs money, doesn’t it?”

  Mr. Larsen leaned back against the cart with a heavy sigh. “The school itself isn’t costly, but it requires us to move to a more expensive area. We can’t afford it, right now. Not until I find work.”